Total pages in book: 247
Estimated words: 235897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1179(@200wpm)___ 944(@250wpm)___ 786(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 235897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1179(@200wpm)___ 944(@250wpm)___ 786(@300wpm)
Well, shit. My mouth opens—
“My consort,” Xaden replies casually. “Violet Sorrengail.”
What the actual fuck? My jaw snaps shut so hard my teeth click. I want our bond back and I want it back right now. He can’t just announce things like that without at least a discussion.
“Are congratulations or commiserations in order?” Tairn lifts his head.
“Shut up.” I sheathe my dagger to keep from chucking it at the man I love.
“In that case.” Blue Sash raises his spear fully upright, and the others follow his lead. “If you’ll divest of your weaponry here, we’ll escort you to the table.”
“That’s not happening.” I shake my head. This place took my lightning and my bond. Malek himself would have to pluck my daggers from my sheaths before I give them up.
“What she said,” Xaden agrees.
Blue Sash blusters. “We do not believe in weaponry—”
“Unless you’re…you,” I say slowly. “Have you seen the size of their teeth?” I gesture toward Tairn and Sgaeyl. “Then there’s the fire. Our blades are the least of your worries.”
Tairn huffs a blast of steam scented with sulfur, and Blue Sash lifts his chin, ordering the others to stay where they are, then leads Xaden and me down the path.
Sgaeyl and Tairn follow alongside us until we reach the first barricade of the clearing, two thick rows of palm trees marking the formal entrance to the outdoor palace.
“Your creatures remain here,” Blue Sash demands.
“We’ll pass that request along,” Xaden replies.
“We can see right over these,” Tairn notes.
“Remember, diplomacy is plan A.” I reach for Xaden’s hand and move closer to him as we walk on the orb-lit path, passing what looks to be an open-air receiving room on the left with various seating arrangements, and a music room on the right with instruments waiting for their musicians.
“No walls,” Xaden notes. “No ceilings. What do they do when it rains?”
“Awnings.” I point to the long wooden rails that run the length of the room, ready to shelter its occupants with fabric. “And consort?” I whisper. “We aren’t married.”
He fucking smirks. “I’ve noticed. But ‘girlfriend’ is missing that permanent tone. If it makes you more comfortable, consort is used pretty loosely in Navarrian aristocratic circles. Pretty sure the Duke of Calldyr has had four different consorts in as many years. The designation just gets you the invitation into this place, plus gives you the protection and privileges of my title—”
“I don’t need the protection and privileges—” I shake my head as we pass another row of palms.
“Ouch.” He lifts his hand to his chest. “Never thought you’d reject me.”
I roll my eyes. “It is not the time for this.” Jokes have to wait.
“When would be?” The next look he gives me is a hundred percent serious.
My feet nearly stumble along with my heartbeat. Just the idea of really having forever with him makes my chest ache with a longing that doesn’t belong on a possible battlefield. “When we’re not risking death—”
“We’re always risking death.” He strokes his thumb over mine.
“True,” I admit as we walk onto a flagstone floor, entering the palace’s dining hall.
The room is laid out in two rows of eight circular tables, each seating ten finely dressed Deverelli on backless chairs, all outfitted in a riot of pastel colors and lightweight tunics and gowns. The table linens are embroidered, the place settings extravagant with golden cups and crystal chalices, and jewels glitter in the soft blue light that emanates from the center of every table and the posted orbs that run the length of the room, illuminating the rows of guards—and their blades.
At the end of the open-air chamber, there’s a raised dais with a U-shaped table for five. A man I can only assume is the King of Deverelli sits at its center, twirling a bejeweled dagger in his hands and staring at Halden on the right end of the table like he hasn’t decided if he’s going to use that dagger on him or not.
There’s no sign of Captain Winshire, but Tecarus looks like he’d rather be anywhere than between Courtlyn and Halden.
“Fuck,” Xaden mutters.
“He’s…younger than I thought,” I say about the king. By about four decades or so. Courtlyn only looks to be a few years older than Xaden and me. He’s handsome, with deep golden-brown skin stretched over high cheekbones and a strong jaw, cunning brown eyes, and shoulder-length black hair, but the speed with which he locates Xaden and me and quickly appraises us leaves me a little queasy.
Xaden’s hand tightens around mine, and he leans down to brush his lips against my ear. “The shadows here are not mine. I know your skill with a dagger. I’m not discounting your ability to protect yourself, but for the good of my sanity while I try to get Halden out of whatever mess he’s created, will you please stay by my side?”